


The Phoenix

by Delphi



Series: Fantastic Beasts [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Gen, M/M, Morality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Severus has an unwilling audience with the headmaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phoenix

There were days, and they were many, when Severus was certain he would rather face the Dark Lord than climb that terrible winding staircase to the headmaster's office, and sit in the low chair across the desk from the great man himself, and wallow in Albus Dumbledore's quiet, dignified disdain.

He was not prone to vertigo, but the tower room made him sick to his stomach. This was where he had once stammered and wept and pled. Bad enough, that. The grey, fathomless view was nearly worse, and when he closed his eyes, he could feel the way the structure swayed very slightly in the wind. 

"You've been keeping late hours," Dumbledore commented without looking up from his perusal of the course schedule. His tone was so precisely balanced between concern and censure that it communicated neither.

There was no right answer to that. Admit that nightmares kept him from his sleep, and there it would be: the softly mocking smile. As though regret were the same thing as remorse. As though Severus were a dog standing on its hind legs in his display of either. Allow Dumbledore to think he was letting his own indulgences keep him up, and this agreement between them of going forward could change on a whim.

"I've been busy preparing for the new term," he finally said.

He had not slept at all last night, knowing that Dumbledore had returned to the castle and that he would soon be summoned. Nerves were the greater cause, but part of the evening had been spent in Kettleburn's rooms again, kissing on the sofa in between an idle conversation about flobberworm cultivation. Blessed silence had followed―no, not quite silence. There had been the vulgar slide of Severus's lips and tongue, and the noisy, uninhibited sounds of encouragement that Kettleburn had let slip as he stroked Severus's shoulders. Base, animal acts. A different thing entirely from the lofty expectations held here on high.

He ran his tongue over his teeth unconsciously, and at that, Dumbledore did look up, his eyes sharp behind his half-moon spectacles. Behind the desk, on its perch, the phoenix stirred and ruffled its feathers. Severus fidgeted, fighting the urge to cross his arms tightly across the chest. He half expected the cold, invasive slither of legilimency, but then, there was no need for it. He had already subjected himself to a full dissection in this very office, the layers of his mind peeled away and catalogued, and the results found innately and incurably diseased. 

How many others had Dumbledore examined, he sometimes wondered. And was it a simple thing, telling good from evil? He liked to imagine that it was obvious. He had performed vivisections, after all―cut into a seemingly normal frog or a rat to find a disgusting medical curiosity inside. Or perhaps it was not the presence of some festering tumour, but the absence of something. Perhaps there was a hole in his psyche where everyone else housed their goodness. 

Either way, obvious or obscure, he did not doubt Dumbledore's judgement. His own actions had borne out his deficiency, and this was no less than he deserved. That was the terrible thing about it: there was no argument to be had, no pretending at victimhood. He could not kindle any anger in defence against Dumbledore's quiet contempt as they talked stiffly about the coming year. Instead, there was only guilty relief when Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, indicating that escape was nearly within Severus's grasp. 

That was when the owl tapped at the window.

The phoenix tilted its head and trilled in curiosity as Dumbledore arose and admitted the new arrival. It was some sort of grass owl, to Severus's amateur eye, and it bore a well-weathered envelope.

"I won't keep you, Professor Snape," Dumbledore said absently, taking possession of the delivery and entreating the owl to come inside.

Severus vacated his chair gratefully and had nearly made it to the door when a small sound of surprise made him stop.

"Ah. Pardon me. I see this is for you," Dumbledore said. There was a restrained quality to his voice that made Severus go cold.

He was not, of course, supposed to be in contact with any of his former friends. Not unless it was at Dumbledore's behest. His hand dropped from the doorknob as he turned around slowly. Recognition flashed when he caught a better glimpse of the envelope, just as Dumbledore read the return address, eyebrows climbing in what seemed like genuine surprise.

"From Silvanus, no less. I thought he was already back on natal shores."

"A slow owl," Severus guessed, ignoring the creature in question's indignant hoot. He reached for the letter, careful not to appear as though he were snatching it away.

"What would he be writing to you about, I wonder."

There was no right action here, just as there had been no right answer before. Defensiveness would suggest that there was a privacy to be invaded, something to hide. Honesty was out of the question. The thought of Dumbledore knowing about what he had done made him cringe. The thought of Dumbledore misinterpreting it as faithlessness was worse. It was a tactical risk to take a letter opener from Dumbledore's desk and break the seal on the envelope, but he saw no other option. 

He noted the date on the letter before reading it impassively. It took all his control not to let his face twitch or his blood pressure rise. 

_Dear Professor Snape, I am counting upon the fact that I should arrive at Hogwarts ahead of this letter. If I have been a coward..._

His first reaction, quite despite himself, was to be charmed. Kettleburn was entirely removed from his experience of how human beings operated, and though Severus usually reacted to bafflement with annoyance, there was something entertaining about the man's eccentricity. 

He snorted dismissively. "Horklumps," he said. "A discussion we've now already had. I asked him about them in June and he didn't bother to write back until August." The letter was crammed carelessly into his pocket.

"I was under the impression you'd become rather friendly."

Severus shrugged with casual care. "Not particularly. Professor Kettleburn seems to think the youngest person on staff is required to carry everything for him. I don't suppose you could have a word with him?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm sure it's none of my business and you can sort it out between yourselves."

There was something strange and strained about that smile. Severus had no tangible proof, but it was suddenly very easy to believe that whatever bad feeling Kettleburn held for Dumbledore was returned in spades. 'Repressed,' Kettleburn murmured in his memory. Then: 'Her Majesty is in particularly fine form tonight.' As soon as the scandalous thought came to him, he dismissed it. Dumbledore, for all his own sins, was no hypocrite. He wielded his biases without apology. It was impossible to think that Dumbledore, who so neatly anatomised the human mind, could be so petty as to hate another man for weaknesses he himself nurtured.

No, there had to be some other issue. Some fault in Kettleburn that had earned Dumbledore's disapproval. It was almost comforting to think they might have that in common.

"If there's nothing else..." Severus asked.

"No. Not presently."

Severus refrained from breathing out in deliverance until he was out on the landing. The blush finally found his cheeks as he briskly descended the winding stairs. He was not supposed to have secrets, not any more. There was nothing he was meant to keep from their esteemed headmaster, who had seen him stripped bare. 

But this...

The letter sat with undue weight in his pocket, and he could not help but smooth out its crumpled corners. 

...this, paltry though it was, he had for himself.


End file.
